"You lick my bagel and I'll kick your ass."

[stillane]

... and other adventures with dogs.

Yes, folks, dogs, as in plural. Not one, but two. (Incidentally, this brings the critter tally up to dual canines, ditto cats, likewise rabbits, a fish each for my sister and me, a surprisingly boring frog, and a surprisingly entertaining snail. Can you tell my parents were raised on farms?) The stars aligned to land Dad just what he always wanted: a Jack Russell of his very own. The little beast is eight weeks old, absolutely adorable, and capable of mayhem and destruction the likes of which have never before been seen. Apparently, however, this tendency to the demonic is limited to myself and my sister. He's an angel with Dad and Mom. Figures.

And have I mentioned lately that my Golden is the best dog ever? Because he is. Aside from the usual shadow duties - sleeps by me at night, refuses to do anything until I'm up to do it, too - he's been pitching in with the pupsitting, wearing the tyke out with endless rounds of roughhouse. He's generally remarkably gentle and patient about it, too - far more so than I would be with two pounds of growling fluff hanging from my upper lip. Mostly, he just lays his head down and pins the pup when he gets tired. The little brat wriggles and whines, but it's painless. The only thing the big guy hasn't taken well was the minibeast romping over to take a nip out of me. I made the mistake of saying "ow", and Wyatt was there in two seconds flat to roll the little guy away. No harm done, but I got the big worried retriever eyes.

Also, if you call my home any time in the near future, I promise I am not committing acts of cruelty. The screaming, heart-wrenching cry in the background is only an expression of displeasure at being held captive. The monster doesn't like to be caged, which is making crate training a challenge. My favorite bit so far is the Mini Chainsaw of Death. He grabs onto a cage bar near the top and proceeds to slide down, snarling all the way. This might be menacing on something bigger than a loaf of bread. I give him an A for effort.

Any and all name suggestions for the little cuss are hereby requested. We're leaning toward Jekyll at the moment.

In other news, still job hunting. I think I'm going to have to scrap my lofty ideals and go for something temporary and possibly unappealing. *sigh* Harvard's MCZ doesn't want me. Not that I particularly want to be up north for another winter, but access to the museum would have been nice. Sharks in jars. Haven't heard from any of the other zones yet, but I'm not holding my breath. It should not be this difficult to find gainful employment when one is perfectly willing to relocate and interested in just about everything.

In other other news... hm. Let's see. New Atlantis tonight! (And yay for the internet, since I'd miss it entirely otherwise.) Three pending stories in various stages of doneness; one being the still not done challenge entry, another the SPN finale tag that I'm worried everyone and their mother will already have done, and the last an SG:A fic that keeps switching personalities on me. Not as in POV, as in tone. And format, because, yeah, it's funky. I like it, but it scares me. I'm going to need some serious beta opinion on it.

And I think that's about it. Dad's back at work, allowing for some quality internet and writing time, so maybe I'll get something accomplished between job searches. Yay!

So that's me. How are you?

Comments

[stillane.livejournal.com]

I do, indeed, have a Golden. He's a little over two years, his head comes almost to my hip, and he believes his eighty-pound frame is perfectly suited for lap sitting. My mom - who did not want another dog after our last crop passed away (of age), no sir, no way - made the mistake of putting a certain yellow ball of fluff in my arms for five minutes, and the rest was history. If I can figure out how to dump the memory from my sister's crap digital camera, I'll have a picspam of the assorted menagerie soon.

ok so he is 13 and hardly a pup, but he forgets!

Hee. I'm pretty sure these guys don't ever really grow out of it. Older and wiser, maybe, but still playful; like ninety-year-old men with go carts. *g*

I'll second the 'insane but sweet' vote, too. The little bugger has no fear. Able to leap tall building in a single bound, is that one. Except, his ears flap up and his legs sprawl out, so really I guess he's more like Batman. (And now I want to get him a tiny cape. Possibly a helmet, too.)

You call Harvard stupid, and I grin. Thank you. *hug*

As far as the SG:A story goes, I think I'm going to try to get it mostly coherent before I ship it over. It's like... Well, at the moment there are a bunch of different bits, and as separate things they all work fairly well, but I wonder at their ability to play nice together. Also, the connecting section may need to take the season premier into account, so I'm going to watch that before it's done. So, if I'm lucky and well-behaved, your inbox may have visitation early in the week. The Supernatural fic might even beat it to print, though. That one, at least, has the excuse of being intentionally trippy.

Of course, the one story that needs to get done absolutely refuses to. Grr. Why must you be so stubborn, little Basic story? Why?

And as to you: feeling any better? I know the docs are still off being befuddled, but how's the patient in the meantime?

[enname.livejournal.com]

He's a little over two years, his head comes almost to my hip, and he believes his eighty-pound frame is perfectly suited for lap sitting.

Oh he sounds gorgeous. There is nothing like a big dog to make me want to hug them. The local Doctor where we used to live had this enormous Pyrenean Mountain Hound who used to sit in the middle of the road and stop buses. Huge animal - bigger than a Saint Bernard.

Well you should know that your lap is obviously designed for dogs, just because he is all grown up now doesn't change that. Just, get a bigger lap. Or I think that is my dog's argument.

Pictures!

Older and wiser, maybe, but still playful; like ninety-year-old men with go carts.

The current dog (Monty sadly died when he was 16)is a Border-Collie-Kelpie cross (mutt) and I am not sure that wiser is the word we should be using here. Mind you the only reason why he stopped climbing onto my lap was because he is a little too stiff to now. I remember picking him up as a two week old. Aww.

Possibly a helmet, too

Boots too! Oh and a little chest plate with the bat signal on it. He will be so embarassed.

*hugs back* Harvard says no to you, then of course Harvard is stupid. I mean really, I am not sure I'd want the sorts that they seem to favour. Institutions like that might be good at some things, but others? They suck.

The inbox has the grapes on ice and the red carpet ready to roll. Or unroll as the case maybe. Although it shouldn't be too much of a hardship to watch the season premiere. Really. The pain. *woe is her* Still I know that feeling of having a multitude of bits that don't want to adhere together - you gotta get that over arching construct to work. Sucks.

Hee, I still don't often hear the words Supernatural and trippy in the same sentence. :P

*proffers rolled up newspaper to slap Basic story around* Down story, down!

Uh me. Yeah, well I've been better. Last night wasn't so much of a happy night and I have decided that eating is just not really the go at the moment. It is more a continuous sense of great discomfort than anything too painful, and it does come and go a little ... but. Yeah. 48% maybe? Gotta wait till Monday to make a follow up appointment.

*is .. pardon the pun.. sick of this*